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Quote by Traci Chee

“—Es —leyó, sin deletrear— Un. Libro. Esto es un libro —miró hacía arriba impaciente—. Eso no es un libro. Es un pizarrón. —¿Es lo que crees? Lon abrió la boca para replicar, pero la cerró de nuevo al momento. Ladeó la cabeza, desconcertado. ¿Podía un pizarrón ser un libro? ¿Acaso cualquier cosa podía ser un libro, siempre y cuando uno supiera leerla?”

Quote by Traci Chee

Book:The Reader
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The Reader

In this poignant narrative, a young man falls in love with an older woman, who remains enigmatic until the novel's climax. The story delves into the complexities of human relationships and the impact of historical events on individual lives. more

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Traci Chee

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“Non ha senso proibire al fuoco di ingoiare ciò che l’umana indifferenza ha già ingoiato. Lo splendore di Parigi o di Londra non è che un alibi per i criminali grazie ai quali Varsavia, Dresda, Vukovar e Sarajevo non esistono più. O se esistono, ci vive della gente che nella più grande epoca di pace si predispone all’evacuazione, già pronta a dire addio ai propri libri. A questo mondo, per come esso è fatto, c’è una regola di base — la stessa che enunciò Zuko Džumhbur pensando alla Bosnia —, e si riduce a una valigia sempre pronta. Lì dentro devono starci tutte le tue cose e i tuoi ricordi. Quel che resta fuori è già perduto. Inutile andare in cerca delle ragioni, del senso, di una giustificazione. Appesantisce, come i ricordi. Non resta che restituire diligentemente i libri presi a prestito, quelli avuti in dono li eviti o li perdi, quelli scritti li invii agli amici che vivono lontani gli uni dagli altri, così che il fuoco possa divorarli il giorno in cui la terra sarà tornata nel punto esatto in cui era qualche milione di anni fa. Impossibile schedare o ricordare le biblioteche private di Sarajevo distrutte dal fuoco. E neanche ci sarebbe qualcuno per cui farlo. Ma come la fiamma di tutte le fiamme e il fuoco di tutti i fuochi, la mitica cenere e la polvere finale sono memori della sorte del glorioso Municipio, la biblioteca universitaria di Sarajevo, del rogo di quei volumi lungo un giorno più una notte. Tutto questo accadeva dopo un sibilo e un boato, esattamente un anno fa. Forse proprio nello stesso giorno in cui tu leggi queste righe. Accarezza dolcemente i tuoi libri, straniero. E ricorda che sono polvere.”

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Book:Sarajevo Marlboro
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“GERRY: [towards his newborn granddaughter] Y'don't even know your own name. And a bet you've no idea who I am? Y'don't know anything, do ya? You're startin' with a completely new sheet, eh? You're one big blank page, that's what you are. But you're the next page, our kid... you're the next page. GERRY smiles at his grandchild as the lights fade to Blackout.”

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Book:The History of the Troubles
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“Na pitanje tko čini "grupu investitora" odgovora nije bilo. Na pitanje jesu li već radili neke projekte i koje, odgovorili su da jesu, ali da ne mogu reći koje. Razgovor je tekao u ugodnoj atmosferi: vidjelo se da su očekivali rabijatne tipove, a ne četvorku koja postavlja suvisla pitanja na engleskom. Pri kraju razgovora Treasure je pitao koji je odnos Našeg Hajduka i Torcide, na što mu je odgovoreno da je, slikovito rečeno, Toricida IRA, a Naš Hajduk Sinn Fein. Britanac je na to vidljivo negodovao.”

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“A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon; The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune; Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew, And watching his luck was his light-o'-love, the lady that's known as Lou. When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and the glare, There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty, and loaded for bear. He looked like a man with a foot in the grave and scarcely the strength of a louse, Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he called for drinks for the house. There was none could place the stranger's face, though we searched ourselves for a clue; But we drank his health, and the last to drink was Dangerous Dan McGrew.”

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Book:The Shooting of Dan McGrew and Other Poems
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“Romeo caught me around the elbow and gently pulled me around. "What's wrong?" "You used to be just like him," I blurted out. Then slammed my lips together, cursing myself for not thinking before I spoke. Romeo's brows drew together. "Braeden?" I nodded. "You liked to have fun. You hit on a different girl every day..." I paused and took a deep breath. "Pretty girls." Something very close to anger lit up his eyes and burned there like the hottest part of a flame. Before I could backpedal, his large hands slid beneath my arms and hooked beneath my shoulders. Romeo lifted me off the ground like it was easy, like it didn't even take effort. My feet dangled in the air as he drew me up so we were eye to eye. "A thousand of those girls"- he made a slight motion with his head toward Braeden- "couldn't even make up one of you." "Romeo," I whispered, caught up in the molten blue flame flickering in his gaze. "You know I was like that once. I've never made a secret of it. But you're it for me now, Rim. There's no one else. There never could be." - Romeo & Rimmel”

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“In response, five nearby Scarlet gangsters who were waiting around a restaurant also stilled, waiting to see if they would be summoned. They were killersand extortionistsand raging forces of violence, butas the rumors went, Juliette Cai was the girl who had strangled and killed her American lover with a string of pearls. Juliette Cai was the heiress who, on her second day back in Shanghai, had stepped into a brawl between four White Flowers and two Scarletsand killed all four White Flowers with only three bullets. Only one of those rumors was true. Juliette smiled and waved to the Scarlet men. In response, one waved back, and the other four nervously laughed among themselves. They feared Lord Cai’s wrath if anything were to happen to her, but they feared her wrath more if they were to test the truth of the rumors.”

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Book:These Violent Delights
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